34
by billiespiper
Summary: Barbara Gordon and the thirty four excuses she makes for why she failed at love.


06. _i stay because you're the beginning of a dream i want to remember_

Her favorite place to be is without a doubt the rooftop of her dad's precinct. She likes it in that golden hour between day and night, when the sun stretches out a last yawn, long fingers of yellow stretching above the horizon. Her shadow is ten feet tall, and that makes her at least feel a little safer than before.

And Barbara's favorite thing on that empty and desolate red brick rooftop is the huge cast iron Bat Signal. There's something beautiful about the sharp crafting of the black bat, the way its narrow wings stick out beside it, erect and strong. It's in the way the rim of the spotlight rises high above the insignia, and in the way that plain little bat seems to stick out even more because of it. Or maybe it's in the quiet hum of the generator, pulsing electricity to the light for emergency alerts. In any case, Barbara could spend hours with her arms crossed over the edge of the spotlight, fingers dipping into the circle to play with the steel outline of the dark animal.

Today was her thirteenth birthday, and her dad had promised to take her out for sundaes at their favorite diner after he finished up some paper work- _and_ she could get extra whip. It had been difficult not to think of all the different flavor combinations she could get while doing her homework on that coffee stained brown couch in her dads office, and so she escaped up three flights of stairs to her perch on the roof of the Gotham Polic Department. And, truth be told, as excited as she was about melted fudge and maraschino cherries, Barbara was almost more excited just to spend some time with her dad. She understood completely that it was difficult to be the police commissioner, especially in a town where you were more likely to be mugged than greeted _good evening_ when walking down the street. She _understood_ very well. She just thought it was unfair that rapists and criminals saw more of her dad than she did most days. And while it was perfectly fine to do homework and watch t.v. and eat popcorn with Dick after school, she still felt that tiny little mosquito bite of the green eyed monster sneaking up into her veins.

And now, it's five oh seven, according to her wristwatch. It's now seven minutes and counting after her dad _promised_ he'd be done. But it's not that bad when she's sitting against the falling sun, casting her superhuman shadow over the streets below. It feels better when Babs is running her bitten down nails along the steel of the Bat Signal and thinking of his protégé's skinny white legs in fish scale underpants.

She can hear something flutter behind her, almost disguised by the wind that howls and croons in her ears. For anyone else, this presence would have gone noticed. Only the police commissioner's daughter, incredibly well versed in the art of self defense, could pick up on the subtle flap of fabric (most likely some high density polarized material, if Babs knows anything about the precautions superheros take for their safety) that destroy an otherwise silent entrance.

"Right on time, Boy Wonder. I was just thinking about you." With her back still to him, Barbara can hide the ghost of a smile that spreads throughout her entire body. Somehow, she thinks he can see it anyway.

"Aren't you always?" His voice, smart assed and cunning, is like an old friend to her, despite the fact that she knows the mask and the cape but not the boy underneath.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten to come," Actually, she didn't. He's suprisingly punctual, and he never forgets to meet her on Thursdays. "I was a little disappointed in you, Robin."

He cackles from behind her, shrill hyena laugh stifled by the hot Gotham air.

"Forget you? On your birthday, at that?"

Her smile falls. Eyebrows come together.

"How'd you know it was my birthday?"

Barbara turns against the wind, fighting resistance and pushing her hair back from her face.

"Sidekick to the world's greatest detective, I think you forget sometimes." Robin steps closer, until he's within arm distance. "I'd like to know what's going on in that complicated ginger brain of yours, Barbara Gordon."

Her hair is still whipping into her face, which kind of ruins whatever moment was there to begin with. Robin reaches up to push some back clumsily. It's not a romantic gesture, but when his fingertips touch her temple, she can feel the way they tremble.

"Stupid wind tunnel." She mutters. He's just close enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice any higher. He smirks at her again, letting go of the side of her face to stretch his arms out beside him.

"I love it. Makes me feel huge." And with the wind billowing out the sides of his cape, he is. He's not a shrimpy little boy wonder in pixie boots, but strong and big and proud. And it makes her smile, the way he's this tiny boy wrapped up in the red and yellow arms of his spandex costume. Barbara always used to think he was the most elusive thing, so unreal and shadowed. But the more she stared, the more real he became.

He notices her staring, the offset look in her eyes. For some reason, this sparks a mood in him. Something giddy and bright. Something playful.

"Say, Missus Gordon, do you like flying?" He pitches his voice into an old cockney accent, bending his elbow and sinking low like a gentleman from the nineteen twenties.

Immediately, she picks up on it, the white of her teeth stretching wide.

"Well, I do say Mister… Bin. It is quite an enjoyable past time." He looks at her for a moment more, eyes settling on that little dimple in the side of her cheek. There's quiet only for a second, before he bursts into pearls of condescending laughter.

"Hey, _what_?" Robin falls to his knees, laughing too hard to answer her. "_What _is so funny, jerk?"

He mimes wiping a tear away from his face, meeting her stone hard gaze with that empassive white mask.

"Your… _accent_! Barbara, it's so bad. It's horrible!"

She stands there, watches him laughing in his curled fetal position. He's a _baby_, a complete and total immature idiot.

(She'd totally be lying if she said she didn't find it adorable)

Somehow, he manages to regain his composition, and jumps to his feet after Barbara smacks his hand away. Robin puts his hands on his hips, shoulders straight.

"I believe we mentioned something about flying."

He offers a hand out to her, gloved in black. She chooses to look at it instead of risking that anxious school girl feeling in her knees and chest.

"You won't let me fall?"

Her gaze is trained on the curl of his fingers, the shiny black latex material. His hand rises, hovering awkwardly mid air. He pushes himself to bring it further, lightly bumping against her chin and forcing it up.

"I would never. I'm the Boy Wonder."

Years (many, many years) later, Barbara will consider this the first time she takes an interest in the superhero life. Before, it had always been a vague part of her life. She had seen coverage of the almighty Justice League soaring through the sky, had listened to her father telling her bedtime stories about the caped crusaders who would protect her in the darkness. But before Robin and the way the wind felt against her skin when she was freefalling with nothing but a grappling hook to protect her, Babs had never felt like she was meant to _protect_, only that she was meant to be protected. And now, sitting in this empty skeleton of a wheelchair, so far in the future of that bright eyed girl Barbara is counting the excuses for why she failed at love.

She starts at six.

_I stay because you're the beginning of a dream I want to remember._

* * *

**end notes: jesu christo what was that**

**this is going to be multichapter? i think?**

**but asdfghjkl m y acrobatic batbabies i m just**

**story cover credit here!: **


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